The Oil Spill of Our Words

This morning I woke up feeling such compassion and peace that I nearly cried. Why? Because I am blessed to live in America where we are gifted with the absolute splendor of the natural world plus cultural opportunities and freedom. 

Sadly, I nearly cried again in the next few hours as I read the words of so many people, people I know and had hoped to form community with, who seem to have vitriol spilling out of them. They are awash in a constant turmoil of religious fervor and what they believe patriotism to exclusively be. And this zeal too often emerges as acerbic ridicule of people or enclaves or cultures, as the bitter criticism that heaps blame upon the other, upon someone who doesn’t think like they do. 

I understand the fear and anger, I'm intimately familiar with them, but scathing or derogatory remarks incite vitriol rather than invite tolerance or mercy toward our common need for safety and peace. How do we use our words to respond with healing intention to this acidic oil spill spreading throughout our families and communities? How do we mend the cracked and broken channels of emotion erupting from within that are in direct reaction to the eruptions of threat and violence we see coming toward us? 

I know my reflection upon this arises partially out of an audio interview I listened to a while back wherein naturalist and author Terry Tempest Williams said at one point that: 

“And I was thinking, what is vitriol? What does it mean? And I actually looked it up and it was fascinating because it means an allusion to the corrosive properties of vitriol, which is a strong corrosive acid linked to sulfuric acid, clear, colorless, oily, water-soluble liquid that is produced from sulfur dioxide. Which I thought was interesting, which is the toxic waste that comes from burning coal, used chiefly in the manufacturing of fertilizer, chemicals, drugs, explosives, and petroleum refining. And I thought, well, this is really interesting. Because I think that the conversations that we so often have, and I have to tell you, you know, I don't have to go anywhere but my own family dinner table to find the seed bed of this, both the highest use of language and the lowest use of language with real vitriol, because the people around our dinner table and our extended family do not all think the same. So I have no illusion that we all have this common ground. You know, we have to really fight for that around our household. And we always have.”*

Williams talked about her journey to see the residual effects of the Gulf oil spill (she wrote a piece on that called “The Gulf Between Us”**) and also relates this to the feeling of being caught in the middle because we need something, such as oil, but also are diminished and shamed by what our own desire and need has done to the planet and myriad diverse cultures. 

So, how do we create balance? How do we embrace the other while holding our own center point of integrity and faith? How do we return with awareness, repeatedly, to our own culpability in the current chaos and crises? How do we not blame the other…the other person, the other side, the other country? Not easy questions, I know. 

One thing I can do, to begin within, is try to carefully watch my words, because they can’t be taken back, and because vitriolic words taint, tarnish, and can even potentially destroy all that we hold dear when they escalate actions toward violence. Thankfully, by grace, words can also heal and hearten the weary or fearful or angry, leading to compassion and the ability to embrace the other and to peaceful resolutions or, as Parker Palmer said recently, to revolutions, in "Five New Year's Revolutions." 

And this gives me hope...

Happy New Year and May We Know Peace on Earth.

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*Terry Tempest Williams. “TheVitality of the Struggle.” On Being with Krista Tippett. July 19, 2012. < http://www.onbeing.org/program/vitality-struggle/233 >

** Terry Tempest Williams. “The Gulf Between Us.” Orion Magazine. < https://orionmagazine.org/article/the-gulf-between-us/ >

Writing for Shimmer

I often wander down side paths and find unexpected delights. Especially in reading and writing.

Now that I've finished writing Desert Fire: Befriending the Monster in my Mind*, I'm looking forward to immersing myself again in my novel. However, I've taken a side path in its creation because I found it starting to shimmer with touches of magic. I probably ought to have known that I couldn't write a novel without bits of mysticism or fantasy.

When I was listening to Krista Tippett's conversation with Maria Tatar, for a second time I might add, I realized that a soft voice was whispering to me from a barely visible trail leading into a thicket off the main path that is my manuscript. Is this why I haven't been able to finish it? There was some sparkle missing?

The dialogue between Tippett and Tatar was "The Great Cauldron of Story: Why Fairy Tales Are for Adults Again." (give it a listen, or read the transcript -- I'm sure you'll enjoy it!) Their chat led me to consider not only my interest in adult stories (books, movies, TV) of fantasy and fairy tales but also into my dimly recalled childhood. Unfortunately, while I remember having a passion for reading and books since before I started school, my poor memory leaves a vast vacancy of details. The rare foggy peeks into my early childhood seem to guide me toward Wind in the Willows and, as I wrote about earlier, to Little Burnt-Face. How could I resolve this loss or revive some missing memories?

I have decided to explore children's literature. See if perhaps I could revive some childhood memories and, even if not, create a new association with or appreciation for the stories that I'm sure had an impact upon me -- even if I don't recall the experience. My first step was to buy Maria Tatar's Enchanted Hunters: the power of stories in childhood. Marvelous book! I enjoyed how she wove together the histories of oral storytelling with that of children's literature, and presented a wide range of authors and tales. In addition, she addressed how we think that children may be understanding and using stories differently than adults do, and how the writing itself varies.

I'm going to tip-toe into classic children's literature and see what happens. Maybe my child-self will allow me to wander in wonder for a while … and allow some magic to flow freely through my writing.

"The world of print, like nature, offers many points of entry to feelings of wonder. When we retire to the fabled armchair or turn on electronic devices such as Kindle (the name is telling), we have the chance to enter story worlds constructed by words and images--a second nature that helps us recapture a sense of wonder. Most children in this country begin reading on their own around the time that the real world begins to lose its magic." 
~ Maria Tatar
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* Desert Fire will be available in June.

Haunted ... and An Antidote

A few days ago, I watched a movie that has continued to haunt me. This happens sometimes, as I'm sure it does for everyone; a movie touches us in an unexpected manner that is fathoms-deep. And, curiously, it's hard to uncover exactly why this particular one has done it … the topic is not unfamiliar in our war-torn world, and yet it goes inside and shifts something.

Usually, after this happens to me, I never watch the movie again even if I consider it was extremely well-done. I just can't go "there" again. Three movies that have done that to me in the past are: Where the Red Fern Grows, Gorillas in the Mist (with Sigourney Weaver), and Instinct (with Anthony Hopkins). Interestingly, though no big surprise, these three involved animal situations, a major trigger for me. And, therefore, even more confounding was my reaction to the latest movie to be placed into this "haunting" category.

The recent movie was In the Valley of Elah (with Tommy Lee Jones). I was drawn to the movie not because of the plot, per se, though it intrigued me, but rather because I enjoy Jones' acting and the supporting cast was excellent. However, this movie did not go the way I expected, and I found myself deeply disturbed. I don't want to give anything away, so I won't share details. I do highly recommend this film -- to watch once.

Like most trailers, this one highlights the "action" … but there is tremendous slow nuance in this film, every scene strips away at what we might think this story is about. 

So, after a day of being haunted by the movie (if you watch it, perhaps you will understand what I mean), I decided I needed an antidote. I found what I was looking for in the simple, sweet voice, music and lyrics of Carrie Newcomer. Every song brought me home, safe, optimistic, and inspired new faith in living a good life is the gift each of us has to offer -- this is our gift to counteract the horrors in the world. 

I'm a brand new fan of this artist, and adore every song I've listened to thus far. I can recommend Kindred Spirits: A Collection as well as her latest album A Permeable Life.

I found her through OnBeing when she was being interviewed by Krista Tippett. And it's not only her music. Listen to her recitation of one of her poems:

May your day be blessed with knowledge of the Whole of our World, the sadness and the joy, and the tremendous opportunity for grace within each of us.

Four Questions

While listening to an interview on one of my favorite podcasts -- OnBeing with Krista Tippett -- four questions mentioned in an interview with Seth Godin immediately aligned with the concept of writing for audience, and how we go about doing that. Narrowing my focus to a particular audience when I'm writing can be grueling, which is why this resonated. Maybe these four questions will give someone else direction or support or a new way into viewing their audience (Godin's prospective customer) as well, so here is the excerpt:

Who is your next customer? You mean that conceptually. Their outlook, hopes, dreams, needs and wants. What is the story he told about himself before he met you? How do you encounter him in a way that he trusts the story you want to tell him about what you have to offer? What changes are you trying to make in him, his life, his story? And then you wrote, start with this before you spend time on tactics, technology, scalability.

The Vitality of Listening

It's strange to me that I've never read the works of Terry Tempest Williams, and yet, here I am; apparently now is when her words speak to me … and I listen. 

I recently listened to her interview in 2011 by Krista Tippett at OnBeing and wanted to share this quote (from the unedited version):

"If we can ask ourselves the question, then we are going to move toward the answer. And that's where, for me, it really is about listening, and being curious, and speaking [listening] from our umbilicus, not our mind, and sometimes not even our heart because that's where it gets so emotional that we *can't* hear one another. But if I'm listening to you with my hand on my belly, you know, of where I was first connected to breath which was my mother, you know, then I really can sit in the seat of presence and hear what you are saying, not what I want to say to you, but to really listen and to find that point of humanity, that connective truth."

Her reference to speaking and listening from our umbilicus really touched me.

Rhetoric and Bits

a canopy of citrus trees on the UA campus

This semester's English Comp teacher is intensely focused upon rhetoric; he's clearly passionate about the art of persuasion. Me? Not so much. I'd rather share a perspective than try to cleverly convince someone of my view. (In full disclosure, I'm thinking that my distrust of classic rhetoric probably stems from spending nearly twenty years as a secretary to attorneys.) Supposedly, there is no such thing as conversation without rhetoric, but then that depends upon how one defines it, yes? That said, I am happy to learn about rhetoric and to figure out how it fits into my own writing style.

Coincidentally, this morning I was listening to one of Krista Tippett's On Being podcasts and it mentioned rhetoric in the context of science, and how scientific rhetoric can express lack of appropriate humility in light of our vast ignorance as we creep along learning bit-by-bit. The podcast is titled "The Mystery We Are," which can be heard HERE, and is a facilitated dialogue between Pulitzer Prize-winning author Marilynne Robinson and Professor of Physics Marcelo Gleiser. This is a fascinating conversation!

Finally, for those of you who like my freestyle metaphorical writing, a new piece called Leaf on the Wind is over On the Gaia Path...